Life After
by SupremeMasterOverlordKhurro
Summary: A collection of one-shots focused mostly around TC and Jordan, after the end of season 4. No particular order, a bit of fluff, a bit of hurt and comfort, and a little more than a bit of whump. Happy moments, sad moments, confusing moments, scary moments, whatever happens to happen. This is what I say happens after NBC failed to keep a good show going.
1. Dollar Store Blanket

**Started watching Night Shift one day, became obsessed, and then found out some asshat canceled it.**

 **So I write fanfiction.**

 **Focused mostly around TC because I have a soft spot for characters like him.**

 **This will just be a collection of one-shots, in no real order.**

 **I unfortunately do own Night Shift, because if I did, it wouldn't have been cancelled.**

It was a few months after TC had gotten home and started working on the training program at San Antonio. And, much to his relief -and the secret relief of a majority of the night crew- him and Jordan were back together. While everyone knew this by now, since they could tell simply by the way the two would act around each other, they did not yet know that they had moved in together.

By this point, both Jordan and TC accepted that fact that this was simply meant to be. No matter what they tried, somehow they always ended up together in the end. Despite their problems, their arguments, their differences, they worked best together and they would do anything to protect the other. In fact, at a party one, a psychic had told them they were soul mates. TC didn't believe in that stuff, yet he would still bring it up from time to time, mostly teasingly but always with affection.

When they woke up one day before their shift, Jordan could hear the congestion in TC's chest and could see it in his face that he wasn't feeling good. She had insisted that he stay home, call in sick, take the night off. A dose of Nyquil and he would be out cold for the rest of the night. The dog would probably cuddle up to him and he would wake up in the morning feeling better. But, following orders and listening to authority were 2 things TC was not very good at, despite his past in the military (though that is what technically got him kicked out).

So they went into work together, and it lasted about 3 hours before Drew, who was the one in charge tonight, sent TC home. Jordan drove him home -it was a quiet night in the ER, not that anyone would say that out loud-, and left him there on the couch while she went back to work.

When the shift ended, she skipped the normal breakfast with the team and headed straight home, determined to make sure TC was comfortable and ready to run out to get him some over-the-counter stuff he needed it. But when she came home, she found there was no need to rush.

TC was propped up in the corner of the couch, fast asleep, with a little blue and black plaid blanket draped over his shoulders and his legs stretched out over the rest of the couch. Max had been laying on the floor by his feet, but had jumped up as soon as Jordan opened the door. Looking at that blanket, she couldn't help but smile. She had bought him that blanket years ago, during his first tour to the middle east. He had complained once in a letter about how cold it got at night, and how the army blankets sucked. She had been at a Dollar General store one day, picking up something for home, when she had spotted a rack of soft, thin blankets that were probably better to give to babies. They were small, maybe about 5x4 and very thin, but she had grabbed one anyway, and added it to the box that she was mailing to him.

She doubted it really did much to keep him warm, but he had brought it with him all three tours. After the last tour, she had thought he would've thrown it away. It was old, had lost some of the softness and had a hole or two in by now and she was pretty sure a couple of blood stains. But she found out about 4 years after that last tour, when she had brought him home that day he had nervous breakdown at work, that he still had that blanket. It was packed away in box at the very top of his closet. He had even forgotten about it, but had been looking for something -she couldn't remember what exactly- and they had opened the box and found the blanket. After that, nothing much more came of it, besides on days when she noticed he was off or distracted. She was never sure what exactly would trigger it, or if there was no real explanation behind it at all, but every now and then a day would come along with TC would be this quiet, brooding mood. She would leave him alone, and oftentimes find him in bed with that blanket either tangled around his feet or draped over his shoulders.

When he was sick especially, it would somehow find its way out of the box again. Some people would think it was a childish that he could seek this blanket out. Children look their special blankets, their blankies or their baby blankets, but TC was a grown man who had seen and done things that some men could never claim to have even imagined. Jordan could remember one lecture from a psychology class years ago however, how some people associate an object or a sound with something good and soothing and will subconsciously seek that object or sound out when stressed, afraid, or upset, like how babies will cry for a certain stuffed animal or how people who went through a traumatic experience will sometimes cling to certain piece of jewelry or someone who experienced a lot of grief may hang onto the clothing of the deceased.

Thinking about it like that, it was easy to imagine that TC hung onto that blanket for all this time and sought it out occasionally not because it was particularly warm or soft, but because she had sent it to him half a world away, and during his very first tour in Afghanistan. Maybe to him, it was a reminder that someone at home was still waiting for him to come back.

 _Flashback: Afghanistan, TC's first tour, 12:30pm_

 _He had only been overseas for about a month, and already he found that he was exhausted more often than not. Forget med school, this made that seem like a piece of cake. Finals week was not nearly as exhausting as this. Of course, he had know that war was a whole lot harder than college. But that didn't mean it didn't surprize him just how much harder it was. In one way, it was a little easier. It was messier, less organized, more exciting, and that's what TC thrived in. Chaos, action, that rush of adrenaline that comes from saving people while under fire was unlike anything he had ever experienced before._

 _Despite how hot it was during the day however, he preferred it over the cold of the night. He had written a letter to Jordan about it, how it was so different from what he had expected but how he found he actually enjoyed it. He told her how cold it would get at night._

 _Currently, it was 12 in the afternoon and the company had just returned from a small patrol. TC had been up most of the night before, treating some of the injured and taking care of the handful of men who had decided to try to eat something a native had made and ended up with bad diarrhea. It was not a fun night, to say the least. Then he had been asked to go on that patrol, and one man had been shot, and TC had been the only medic available at the time. Someone else had come to take over for a while, so he was finally able to take a break. His plan had been to lay down for just a few minutes, drink some water, and then go get something to eat and check the post. But, he ended up falling asleep as soon as he laid down._

 _Thad had picked up his brother's mail for him however, after going in to find his little brother passed out on the not-so-comfortable cots they had. All that was there was a small box, identical in size to the one Thad had gotten from Annie._

" _Hey T, Jordan sent you this." He said, and tossed it over to him. When the box hit his brother, TC jumped, startled from sleep and looked around in confusion before spotting what had woken him up._

" _Did you have to throw it?" He grumbled, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "And how long have I been sleeping?"_

" _Not long. Maybe 30 minutes, but I figured if you didn't either open or hide the box, someone else would open it to look for something to screw with you about."_

" _Hm." TC looked back to the box. It was small, a foot long and six inches tall. Pulling out a pocket knife, he cut it open and the first thing that came out was candy. Tootsie rolls, airheads, altoids, tic-tacs, followed by a box of Ritz crackers and some flavor packets to add to water. In the back of the box was a little folded blanket. It was black and blue plaid, and while it wasn't very thick, it was very soft. And behind that blanket, a letter._

" _TC,_

 _I'm sorry to hear how cold it is there at night. It's been pretty warm here. I found this blanket at the dollar store, I'm afraid it won't be very warm but I got it for you anyway. I'm sure you'll find something to use it for, if not for warmth._

 _I hope things are going well over there and that you'll be home soon. It's getting a lonely without you here._

 _Besides everyone asking when you'll be home, everything is pretty quiet here. The other night I had a patient come in who had lost a dare and had to shove 5 tootsie rolls up his butt. That was an interesting case for sure, I don't think I'll be able to eat tootsie rolls for while. So naturally, I send whatever ones I have left over here to you. I promise they were not shoved anywhere but in the box._

 _Share some of those crackers and candy with Thad._

 _Miss you both (but you more)!_

 _Love,_

 _Jordan. "_

 _TC smiled, put that letter in the pocket of his backpack where he would be keeping all the letters he got._

" _Hey, are those crackers?" Thad had looked up from his own box, where there was more candy and some magazines._

" _Get your own." TC snorted, covering the box of crackers with his hand. He knew it wouldn't last, and that Thad would probably steal some as soon as TC went back to sleep, but it was worth a shot anyway._

 _That day, when he did fall back to sleep, he found that the blanket smelled like Jordan. And from that day on, TC found the blanket comforting. And he kept it, even after he returned home, even after he broke up with Jordan._

 **A pointless little drabble that will be one of hopefully many. The others will hopefully be better, I'm not too good at writing fluff.**


	2. 72 Hours: Part 1

**Becauses government conspiracy, man. They're great.**

 **I do not own Night Shift.**

 **Also, I have no idea if any of this is even in the least bit believable. I'm not a doctor, not a med student, I can barely pass my general biology class.**

It wasn't very often that TC ended up in Fort Hood. He was there just for a brief visit, to get copies of some records for one of his friends. It was supposed to be a quick in and out. Little did he know that things were about to get a hell of a lot harder. He stopped in the bathroom to relieve himself and wash his hands. As he walked out of the bathroom, someone else was rushing in, coughing. Even with the other man covering his mouth, TC could feel the splash of spit on his face. It was disgusting, and sometime he was way too used to at this point, after working in a hospital for so long. The other man muttered an apology but otherwise ignored him, heading straight for a stall. TC wiped his face off, irritated, and headed to the office to get the paper.

Once he got it, he back on his motorcycle and headed home. He had work in a few hours and he didn't want to be late (for the 4th time this week). He would bringing the papers to work this evening and giving it his friend there, so he was able to shower and go to bed once he got him. After his shower however, he was starting to feel a little off. Not quite sick, but off. He brushed it off as exhaustion and went to bed, not even bothering to pull the blankets over him. It wasn't very cold anyway.

By the time he got up for work, he was beginning to feel a little sick. A small headache, an itch in his throat. He wasn't about to call out of work though. There was no need, a little cold wouldn't hurt. He had gone to work worse before, and hadn't gotten anyone else sick. If it got bad enough, he would take over the cold and flu patients.

The shift was rather normal, the biggest thing being a 5-car crash. As the shift went on, TC began to feel a little worse. He was sweating more, but avoided questions about it to the best of his ability. It was around 2am that he really began feeling sick. His stomach was starting to hurt, his head was pounding, and his throat was dry no matter what he tried. It was bad enough at this point that he knew he wouldn't be much use to anyone. So after tying off some stitches on a woman's leg, he headed to the desk. That's where Drew, who was currently the head of the ER, was checking some charts. Jordan was with him, going over a patient's charts. She noticed TC approaching first.

"Hey, T." She greeted, before doing a double take when she noticed how sweaty and pale he was. "Are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah." TC nodded, not sure why exactly he was lying about it when he was about to tell Drew he was sick and needed to go turned his attention to the other doctor. "Drew, I-I.." He trailed off as breathing got harder, and put a hand to his chest as if that would make breathing easier. Why was it that everyone put a hand on their chest when they can't breathe?

"TC?" Drew came around the desk, ready to support the other veteran, who wasn't looking good at all.

"Not feeling….great.." he gasped out.

"Can we get a wheel chair over here?" Jordan called, hurrying around the counter as TC leaned on it, legs not able to hold him up any more. A nurse hurried over, pushing a chair and Jordan and Drew helped lower TC into it.

"When did this start?" Drew asked, shining the penlight in TC's eyes. He flinched at the brightness and tried to turn away from it. His breathing got more labored, and Drew began to wheel him to trauma 3, because it became obvious to him that it would be long before TC couldn't breath at all. Jordan followed, getting the mask ready as Drew helped TC onto the bed. The Irish man's skin was hot to the touch, burning with fever.

"He's burning up." Drew stated, laying the bed back while Jordan adjusted the mask to help TC breath. He put the thermometer against T's head, and cursed. "104. What the hell?" He looked up at the screen as Jordan hooked up the machines. His heart rate was irregular, blood pressure high, but the mask was obviously helping quite a bit. With shaking hands, TC pulled it back a little.

"Didn't feel great when I woke up." He said. "Thought it was just a cold. But it got worse."

"Yeah, no kidding." Drew muttered as TC put the mask back over his mouth.

"We need to get his temperature down." Jordan pointed out, a hand on her boyfriend's forehead.

"And need to find out what this is, because it came on fast." Drew added. "Start antibiotics, and I'm going to take some blood to get tested." He pulled a needle from a table, drawing the blood with a well-practiced movement and made his way out of the room, closing the curtain so no one would see who was inside. Because the car accident, everyone had been preoccupied when TC had basically collapsed. Molly had been in the breakroom, and the nurses had been busy in the waiting room or in the traumas, trying to help where they could. Now, people were starting to come back out.

"Kenny, come here!" Drew called, and the tall nurse made his way over.

"Whats up?"

"I need to you to take this sample to the labs and put a rush on it. It's TC. Don't go telling everyone yet, but something's wrong with him. We're bringing him up for a scan too, tell them to be ready."

"On it." Kenny nodded, looking serious and he took the vial of blood and hurried up to the labs.

Drew went back into the room. Jordan was giving him some medication that would hopefully even out his heart rate and lower his blood pressure.

"Kenny is running that up the lab. Let's take him up for a scan-"

"No, I'm fine." TC protested, shaking his head.

"T, you have a 104 fever, irregular heartbeat and practically collapsed earlier. You are _not_ fine and I'm sure Jordan would have no problem sedating you if we have to."

Jordan nodded in agreement and TC groaned, closing his eyes and accepting it. The fact that he wasn't going to argue anymore was enough to tell the other doctors that he was really not feeling well.

"Jordan, can you take him up and I'll handle things down here?" Drew asked, knowing they wouldn't get through the ER without everyone seeing it was TC.

"I got it." Jordan nodded, and as they pushed the bed out of the room she called for Shannon, who was just coming out of another room, to help guide the bed.

"Is that TC?"

Jordan nodded and Shannon grabbed the other end of the bed, the two disappearing into the elevator to go up for the scans.

Everyone else turned to look at Drew. They had seen it was TC's face, and if they hadn't seen it, they had heard Shannon asking if it was.

"Alright, listen up, guys. That was TC you just saw being brought upstairs. We aren't sure what's wrong, but he's sick and going up for tests now. But you know how he is. He wouldn't want anyone to stop working just because he's down, so let's get through this night like we always do. I'll keep you updated on T as we know more."

TC, meanwhile, was in the machine, nausea swarming through his stomach worse than that time he and Thad had tried to go offshore fishing when right before they were deployed the first buzzing was making his pounding head throb even more, and although his breathing was easier now (thanks to the tubes in his nose), he still felt like he wasn't getting enough air. After a few more minutes of laying there, praying the nausea would just go away, he realized it was definitely not about to go away.

"Jordan?" He called, trying to stop his head from spinning.

"Right here, T." Her voice came from over the speaker.

"I'm really nauseous."

"There's only a few minutes left, do you think you'll be okay?"

TC paused for a minute, waiting. Then he swallowed. "No."

"Ok, I'm coming in."

He swallowed again, using all his willpower to not vomit all over himself in this giant tube. It was getting harder though, and almost as soon as his head cleared the machine, leaned over the side and puked up everything he had eaten in the past few hours. Jordan hadn't had time to get the bucket under him, leaving the bed and the floor a mess. She frowned, helping him sit up and holding the bucket under him as he got sick, his whole body tense and shaking. TC did not puke very often, and whenever he did, it always seemed to sap all his energy away.

He would get seasick, and she knew he would get carsick on long rides (part of the reason she knew he liked the motorcycle). For whatever reason, shrimp always made him puke (she hadn't witnessed it, but Thad had told her about it), but otherwise, TC had a stomach of steel.

"What happened?" Drew's voice came from the doorway. Jordan rubbed TC's back as he gagged yet again, though not much came up this time.

"He started to get nauseous in the scanner." Jordan explained simply. TC was exhausted, and he started to lean back again. Jordan wiped his hair from his forehead as he laid down.

"I'll get someone here to clean it, you bring him back downstairs."

Blood tests revealed nothing. The pictures they had gotten from the scan revealed nothing. They struggled to find any illness that would match the symptoms they were seeing right now.

By 4am, they realized they had only breached the tip of the iceberg. TC had been given a small dose of morphine to help his migraine and a small dose of steroids to help him fight off whatever it was that was making him feel so sick.

Drew was checking his vitals again, thinking that TC was asleep. But he was not.

"Drew, look up!" He called, and instinctively, Drew looked, trying to see what it was that TC was alarmed about. But there was nothing there.

"For what?"

"Don't you see them? The bastards are everywhere. In the trucks, they're coming here. We need to leave."

"There are no trucks, we're in a building." Drew looked TC over, and when he looked at his face, he understood. TC's eyes were far away, as if he was not here, seeing a hospital, but somewhere else where people were coming in trucks. And seeing as he felt they needed to leave, Drew suspected TC thought they were in a warzone.

"T, where are we?" He asked, deciding playing along was his best bet for now.

"Iraq. This is supposed to be a safe zone, Drew, why are they here?" The delusional man looked at Drew with concern. Despite his alarm, he was making no movements to get up and leave. Maybe he had gotten a bigger dose of morphine than Drew thought, otherwise T was just a pretty big lightweight when it came to painkillers.

"This isn't Iraq, TC. We're in a hospital. San Antonio."

"Nooo, no, We're not in Texas. We gotta get out, Drew. We gotta get out…" TC trailed off, eyes closing again as he fell back into unconsciousness. Drew added hallucinations to the list of symptoms, which only made the puzzle harder.

He shook his head and walked out of the room, racking his brain to think of something that would cause this. TC had always been a rather healthy guy. He was in shape, he was active, and sure he drank a little too much sometimes, but that wouldn't cause this level of illness in someone so suddenly.

He back in the room 30 minutes later, as he had been to check on him every half hour. And TC was awake again, eyes still far away, but there was something different this time. Drew hesitated, getting that feeling that people get when things are about to get out of control.

"We gotta get out of here." TC stated, almost whispering, as if he was afraid someone would hear him.

"Why?" Drew asked. TC looked at him. Drew had seen that look before, but on other men. That was the look that soldiers gave him sometimes, when they were determined to get out of a really bad situation. Not just a regular bad situation, but something that leaned a little more towards death than to life.

"Because they're coming."

"Who's coming? T, you're in a hospital."

As if just realizing it, TC looked at his arm, where the IV was pumping fluids into him. And someone outside decided it was a great time to drop a metal tray. Shit.

With the reflexes of a trained, tested soldier, TC launched himself out of the bed, tackling Drew with enough force that the other man stumbled back and fell, the curtain blocking off the room not strong enough to keep him standing. The IVs and the breathing tubes in TC's nose were ripped off with the force, and there were shouts of surprize when the two broke through the curtain.

"Kenny, we need sedation!" Drew yelled out as he made to grab TC's ankle as the other man tried to get up and run. He missed, and TC took off down a hallway, causing people in the hall to jump back. Whatever TC was seeing, it was not San Antonio's ER. And Drew had a feeling that as far as TC was concerned, this was a war zone, and a very active one at that.

"On it!" Kenny called back, grabbing something from a cart and taking off down the hall after the sick man.

"What happened?" Jordan asked, helping Drew up. They began to follow Kenny down the hall.

"He thinks we're in a war zone. He said Iraq earlier. The tray dropping set him off."

The came around the corner just as Kenny pinned TC to the ground. The tall nurse now had a bloody nose.

"Got him! Drew, the needle's on the floor-" Kenny was cut off with a grunt as TC elbowed him in the stomach, struggling to get away.

Drew picked up the needle, pulling off the cap as he dropped to the floor beside Kenny, who was struggling to hold TC down. Had Drew not had the experience of poking hundreds of panicked soldiers with needles on a battlefield, he wasn't sure he would have been able to do it as easily as he had now. Within a few minutes, TC stopped struggling, the drugs putting him to sleep.

"Did he punch you?" Jordan asked, handing a hand towel to Kenny.

"Yeah. For someone as sick as he is, there was a lot of strength in that punch." Kenny winced as he held the towel to his face. "What happened, anyway?"

"He think's he's in a war zone." Drew answered. Already a nurse wheelchair over, and Jordan and Drew lifted TC into it, pushing him back to his room while Kenny went to clean himself up. A few of the others milled around obviously curious about what had just happened.

Drew ignored them for now, and he and Jordan set to work getting their friend back on the bed and hooked up to the IV's and oxygen again.

"Let's get a sedative pumping in there too. We don't need that happening again." Drew declared, and Jordan nodded in agreement, checking his vitals. His heart rate was irregular again, and he still had a fever of 104.

"He shouldn't have even been able to go that far. He could barely stand up earlier."

"Adrenaline. People can do amazing things when they think their life is in danger." Drew sighed as he finished adding the sedative into the IV. "The shift is almost over. Are you staying here with him?"

"Yeah." Jordan nodded.

"So am I. And I wouldn't be surprised if others stayed too."

They stood there in silence for a little, listening to the beeping of the heart monitor, watching the steady rise and fall of TC's chest. After a few minutes, they both had to leave the room to check on other patients.

Just as the shift was ending at 6:00am, and the crew were deciding who would stay to help the day shift and keep an eye on TC, a nurse came from behind the curtain to TC's room, "Doctors, he's coding!"

 **Well, that was crap. But this one will have 2 parts, because it was getting long! Part 2 will be out probably next week!**


	3. 72 Hours: Part 2

" _Doctors, he's coding!"_

That sentence echoed in Jordan's head as she rushed over with Drew, into the room where the long, high pitched scream of the monitors was the loudest sound. TC wasn't moving at all, pale and hair still wet with sweat. It was the most unnatural thing she had ever seen. TC wasn't a quiet sleeper, and he hadn't ever been one from what she could tell. He was rarely ever still. She had only seen him still once before while sleeping, and it had been the night when he had gone into the vents after that killer and fallen from the vents to the floor after SWAT cut the vents open. By the end of that, TC had been in enough pain that they gave him a small dose of morphine and he had slept through the night in one position.

She was acting out of habit now, the movements and words coming out of habit.

"Clear!"

Jolt.

"Recharging…"

Another jolt.

"A little higher…"

Another jolt, and then a break in the screaming of the machine. It went back to normal, back to a steadier beat. Jordan and Drew let out a sigh of relief, putting down the equipment in their hands and leaning on the bed, watching that monitor. He was alive. TC was still alive.

"What's wrong with him?" Jordan voiced the question they were all thinking, but got no answer. Molly came up behind her, putting a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. Jordan hadn't even realized that most of the crew was in the room. The day crew, who had been trickling in, had taken over the other cases already. One of the day crew doctors came in, squeezing past the members of the night shift. Jordan vaguely remembered him as Dr. Howards. He was a good doctor, but no one knew exactly where he worked before here. He hadn't come to San Antonio until about 5 years ago, right before Jordan moved to the night shift.

"I'll be covering his case for the day." Dr. Howards said quietly, coming up to the bed and taking the chart from the end of it. Confusion made it's way across his face as he read the chart. "What the hell?" He muttered, flipping through the pages of tests and notes, and looking at TC's pale form on the bed. TC looked smaller, more vulnerable than Jordan had ever seen him. Even during his worst nights, his biggest breakdowns, he hadn't seemed so small and frail. It was wrong.

Drew began to explain the symptoms to Howards. The nausea, the weakness, shortness of breath, hallucinations, and the extremely high fever. Everyone else began to slowly file out, making arrangements for who would text who with news. This wasn't like other cases when one of their own would be down. Most of the time, it only took a few hours at most to fix it, get them stable. But this time, no one was sure what would happen. Things had started to go bad enough midnight. Four hours later, hallucinations. Now at 6:45 in the morning, almost 7 hours later, they were no closer to figuring out what was wrong than they were earlier.

Jordan and Drew stayed at the hospital that day, sitting with him and helping Dr. Howards, who was doing his very best to narrow things down. TC had not quite woken up yet, but had become restless, body sometimes violently jerking once or twice before becoming still again. He would be sweating but shivering at the same time, sometimes hard enough that his teeth were chattering. His breathing was difficult, but they couldn't put the tube down his throat because several times already he would start gagging, though nothing but some stomach acid would come up, and he would make a pained noise and go back to being practically unresponsive.

TC hadn't been responding to sounds for several hours. No matter who spoke or what noises were outside, he ignored them or didn't hear them. But he responded to touch, flinching away at even the lightest touch, as if his skin was ten time as sensitive.

It was around noon when his eyes shot open and he tried to get up, moving faster than someone in his condition should be able to move. And he was screaming, the words -if there were words- too slurred to make out. Dr. Howards got a fist to the eye in the movement, and he stumbled back, automatically calling for the nurses to come sedate him. Drew and Jordan, who had just been outside the room, had hurried back in and struggled to push TC back down. He struggled and seemed to be panicked, desperately to get away from whatever monsters he thought were after him. A nurse came and sedated TC for the second time since this illness took hold of him, though it took longer to start working this time.

None of this was making any sense to the doctors. He shouldn't have been able to get out of bed, because of how sick he was. Yet twice now he has gotten up and tried to make a run for it, twice sedated, twice managing to get rather strong hits on other people. But Dr. Howards was beginning to have a suspicion of what might be happening. While Jordan sat with TC, holding his hand, Dr. Howards took Drew aside.

"Do you know where he was before he started getting sick? Other than his home. Did he go anywhere before going home after work?" Dr. Howards asked quietly, after making sure no one would overhear them.

"Uh, I think he mentioned something about picking up some papers for a friend."

"Do you know where he went to get those papers?"

"Fort Hood."

Dr. Howards bit back a curse. "I need you to block off his room, no one is allowed in or out. Has he coughed on anyone?"

"No, but he's been sweating since last night and vomited earlier during a scan."

"We need to shut down then." Dr. Howards muttered, mostly to himself. "Find out every patient he's worked on tonight and every patient who went through that scanner after him. Any doctors that worked on him. Quickly!" The day shift doctor hurried off after that, pulling out his phone as he did so. Drew wanted to know why he had to do these things, but he didn't waste time. He hurried to the front desk, telling the nurses to announce that ER was shutting down and to tell any in-coming ambulances to go to a different hospital. There was reasonable concern and questions being asked, but Drew was already moving to get the list of patients and doctors TC had had contact with.

When Dr. Howards finally came back into the room TC, Drew, and Jordan were in, he looked both relieved and concerned.

"So the good news is, I think I know what he got in contact with. The bad news is, I can't tell you what it is. It likely happened while he was at Fort Hood, and there are men on their way with the treatment for it. When they come, they'll give him three shots and that should clear it up. However, it may cause symptoms similar to withdrawals. Vomiting, shaking, sweating, the whole nine yards. It'll be pretty rough for two days or so. Everyone who came in contact with him or any form of body fluid from him will be getting 1 shot. You may get the chills or be shaky, but it shouldn't be nearly as bad as his."

"Why can't we know what it is?" Jordan asked.

"Because it's classified information."

About an hour afterwards, two men entered the hospital. Looking like the typical FBI Jack-asses from TV, wearing their sunglasses inside in fancy black suits, hair cut precisely and neatly, the men walked to the front desk and were pointed to TC's room. He had been blocked from the other rooms with police tape. The men each had a brief case, and one of them opened the case as they got to the bed, pulling out a little baggie with 3 different syringes in it. Without a word to the doctors in the room, they injected the shots. One into TC's neck, one right below his chest, and one in his leg. Then they gave Dr. Howards, Drew, and Jordan a shot each, before leaving the room, all without saying a word.

It only took an hour or so for the side effects to kick in. TC began shivering, sweating, gagging though there was nothing to come up. That's how the next 48 or so hours went. It was devastating to watch, and Jordan stayed by his side through the whole thing. Drew had checked in often, but had also gone out to help with whatever he could. Both were shaky and a little feverish from the shot, but nothing they couldn't handle.

Jordan had fallen asleep, and it was only when the sound of the heart monitor changed did she wake up. For once, it was a good change. Instead of pounding or going irregular, it was back to normal. TC's numbers all appeared to going to where they should be. Jordan scrambled to take his temperature, and she would be lying if she said a few tears didn't fall when she saw that his temperature had begun to go down. Instead of a 104, it was now just 100. His fever was finally breaking, though he would no doubt have a rough recovery ahead of him. For now, he appeared to be sleeping, peacefully for once.

 **I'm ending it there because I'm stuck. Also, I know this would be out by next week but I'm in college and college basically likes to give you the middle finger at random times in the semester and watch you struggle. So I have two big papers due on the 30th, and I finished one of them kind of. On top of that, add in a head cold. Oh, what a glorious week this will be.**

 **Either way, I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up, but it will probably be a fluffier one! Or a funnier one. One that involves a lot less research than this illness one should have had.**


	4. John Hopkins

**Send me some ideas, maybe they'll spark another story!**

 _Julian's POV_

Once again, TC had pulled one of his crazy stunts that risked a major lawsuit for the hospital. Julian was honestly getting sick of it. It seemed like every other week he was getting the report that TC had done something that wasn't allowed by the books and was a huge liability. This most recent stunt had been amputating a child's arm while out a storage container, in a thunderstorm. And now, that patient's parents were trying to sue TC. Thankfully he didn't seem interested in suing the entire hospital, but a case like that would get put on the news and Julian would have to fire TC. And then the rest of the ER would revolt, the way they had when Topher had been fired.

Julian groaned and rubbed his temples, sitting heavily in his chair. How in the hell was he going to fix this? Was it even possible to fix? Last he heard, the parents of the child who's arm was cut off were sitting with their child, but hadn't called in a lawyer yet. TC was supposedly passed out on the couch in the break room with a black eye and a few stitches in his head. The full story of what happened hadn't yet come through yet. Only that TC was sent out with the chopper since the ambulance couldn't get to the area, the child had been very weak, TC had cut off her arm, and then came back with a bloody head and a swelling eye. Julian was waiting now for the cops and for Ragosa, who had gone with TC, to give their reports to him on what happened.

Ragosa showed up first, his shift having ended about a half hour ago. Technically, he was still a resident doctor, but was close enough to the end of his residency and had been in the combat training program enough to be approved to go. The storm was gone now, no longer raging as violently and was now just rain soaking the already drenched ground.

Julian just glared at him, waiting for an explanation.

"So uh...let me explain about what happened." Ragosa began.

"Yes, please do." Julian's tone was hostile.

"Ok, so first off, I know how irritating TC is."

"Oh really?"

"Yes. I was his boss for a while too, remember. And I wanted to fire him all the time. Constantly. He knocked me out once, the bastard, punched me right in the face! But there are a lot of benefits to having him around. For one, he's very smart. Reckless, pulls a lot of cowboy stuff, but he graduated top of his class from John Hopkins. And I looked into it several times, there was no mistake and it was a pretty tough class. On top of that, he has 3 years of battle field experience. He makes decisions quickly and efficiently." Ragosa explained, using the same mini-speech he had given himself countless times when he had wanted nothing more than to kick Callahan to the curb.

"What happened in the field _today?"_ Julian growled.

"We got the call a few hours ago. When we got out there, the cops were everywhere. They had raided a man's property and found out that in his woods, there were giant shipping containers, and thats where the girl, Sam, was found. Her arm was infected. Not just swollen and full of puss, there were maggots falling off of it. I don't know how she was still alive, let alone awake when we found her. The cops found her first, and called TC and I over, and we both knew there was no saving her arm. He looked it over and said we had to get her to the hospital now, but the helicopter couldn't leave the storms were getting worse and tornado sirens started going off. Since we didn't know how long the storm would be like that, TC decided her best shot would be if we amputated the arm right there on the field in that shipping container. And so he did, and we got it wrapped it and cleaned up, and it was another half hour before the chopper could take off again. She would have died on the way here if we hadn't."

"And his injuries?"

"That was the father of one of the other kids. There were 5 there that we knew of. He was a cop, ended up showing up a little after the amputation, before we could leave. He blamed TC for his own daughter being dead. Bashed his head against the side of the container, punched him in the eye, almost broke his arm before the other cops dragged him off. I stapled his head." Ragosa explained. "And before you ask, no, there was no saving that girl. She was dead when we arrived. Her and another one were dead when we arrived. Two of the three that were alive were starved, dehydrated, and covered in scrapes and bruises. Sam was the one in the most trouble."

"And TC didn't fight back against the man who attacked him?"

"He did not, actually." Ragosa nodded.

"Send in the cops." Julian ordered, waving his hand at Ragosa. Ragosa got up but paused at the door.

"It was the right call he made, sir. A hard one, but the right one." And then he walked out of the door and called the cops in to talk to Julian.

The cops told Julian a similar story. By the time the medics had arrived, two of the children were already dead. Of the other three, two were stable, one was very weak and very sick and likely going to die within the next few hours. TC had said amputating was their best shot, did the surgery confidently and cleanly. Shortly after, one of the other cops jumped him and slammed his head into the container, and then Ragosa stapled his head. They also claimed that TC had seemed a little on edge, but had blamed it on the storms.

Julian dismissed them, and thought for a bit. From what he had just heard, it seemed like most of everyone else had agreed the arm needed to be removed sooner rather than later. But then, Julian knew what type of a person TC could be. TC spoke with such a confidence that a lot of people would simply trust him right away. And even if someone doubted him, TC had a bad habit of ignoring authority. Julian called down to the ER and told the nurse who answered to have someone send TC up to him immediately.

It was several minutes before the reckless doctor made his way up to the office. He honestly looked horrible, blood still splattering his scrubs, eye swollen shut and a big bruise forming over his cheek. His hair was still wet and his scrubs still seemed damp as well.

"Did you even bother to make yourself presentable?" Julian asked.

"I went to sit on the couch for three minutes, and fell asleep. Nurse said to get up here immediately, so I figured I shouldn't leave you waiting." He shrugged, and sat down in the chair across from Julian. "I already feel like shit, so can we make this quick, please?"

Ignoring the last comment, Julian said, "Was amputating the only option?"

"Yes. There was nothing else that could be done. The arm was full of maggots, puss, rotting flesh. The infection was spreading, quickly, and with the storm outside, there was no way to get her to the ER before she would have died. The surgery was risky, but it was a risk I had to take if she was going to have a chance to live."

"And you're sure it was your best judgement to do so?"

TC gave him that look, the glare that he gave to people when they started to doubt him. "Yes, I'm sure it was my best judgement. I've done plenty of amputations before, on the field, while under fire."

"Are you aware that the parents want to _sue you_ for it?"

"No, but let me talk to them."

"No, you won't be talking to them. If you get involved with this any more, then the media gets involved, than I need to fire you. And the rest of this ER will riot if I do that, so you will keep your head down and stay out of this mess you caused. _Do not_ touch another patient until this is cleared up and _do not_ test me." Julian hissed, and got up to talk to the parents.

He found them in the ICU, the parents sitting by the bed of a little girl who was extremely thin, hair matted and face dirty. The hospital gown was huge on her, even if it was one of the smallest sizes. Machines were attached to her, beeping steadily in the background, a IV and a blood transfusion dripping constantly.

"Mr and Mrs Smith. I'm Dr. Julian Cummings. I own this hospital. " He offered a hand forward to shake, and the father took it first.

"It was your doctor that cut off my daughter's arm then." The mother said, glaring at the hand.

"Yes." Julian nodded, and pulled over one of the rolling chairs in the room. "Thats what I've come to speak with you about. I hear you want to sue the doctor that did it?"

"He cut off her arm without consent!"

"Yes, he did do it without consent. However, Dr. Callahan is a very capable doctor. He's a former army medic, served 3 tours, graduated top of his class from John Hopkins medical school. He's saved thousands of lives over the past couple of years by making quick decisions like that. From what I've been told of what happened, removing her arm was the only way to save her life." Julian explained carefully. "There are plenty of references for him if you'd wish to speak with former patients or co-workers, I can get you their contact information."

"We want to talk to him." Mr. Smith crossed his arms, challenging Julian.

"He's resting after a head injury."

"No, I'm not." TC's voice came from the doorway. He was in dry clothes now, scrub pants and a loose T-shirt, though he still looked like a mess. An exhausted mess, and not at all like a competent doctor.

Julian ground his teeth. "I thought I told you to go home."

"You did, but I can't drive with a concussion and Jordan is my ride. Her shift isn't over yet."

"What did you do to my daughter!?" The wife jumped up and charged towards TC, knocking him off balance before he caught himself on the wall, and Mr. Smith pulled her away.

"M'am, you can't be yelling in here. You'll disturb your daughter." Julian said, standing up. He wanted to kick TC from the room, but he knew how that would look like at this point. TC rubbed at his head, obviously having a headache.

"Look, I know it's not an easy thing to accept-" TC began, but was interrupted again.

"Yeah, you don't say! Our _seven year old daughter_ has one arm!" Mrs. Smith snapped at him.

"I know. I didn't have a choice, if the arm didn't come off then and there, she would have died. The storms were too bad to fly her out of there, we couldn't get her to an ER. I've done that procedure on plenty of people-"

"Healthy grown men!"

"And native children!" TC snapped at them. "Children who got stuck in the explosions and needed limbs removed, soldiers who were bleeding out, refugees, I've done this type of stuff countless of times before, and I _swear_ to you, it was the only option to save her life. The cops have crime scene photos, I'm sure there's a picture of your daughters arm. The flesh was rotting off of her arm, and infection was poisoning the rest of her body slowly. Cutting off her arm was the only way to give her chance to survive." He insisted.

"And what about her future? She has to go through life with one arm. She's only 10 years old!" Mr. Smith challenged.

"Prosthetic. I can get you in contact with people who can help you get a good one and they'll cover whatever insurance doesn't."

"And did it ever cross your mind that she might not survive that surgery?" Mr. Smith practically hissed at TC.

"Yes, it did. Several times, but there was a guarantee she would die if I didn't. My job is to save lives, and I'm good at it."

At that moment, Jordan walked past, pausing when she saw TC in there. "T, I thought I told you to wait in the break room."

"You did. I had to make sure Sam was okay first."

"Well from everyone's expressions, you're not very welcome right now. Go to the breakroom, we'll leave in a few minutes."

Just as he almost always did when Jordan was involved, TC listened almost instantly. He gave one last look at Sam and the machines, seeing that everything was reading normal, then headed out of the room. Jordan was about to leave, but was called back in by Mr. Smith.

"You know him?" He asked.

She turned around, biting back the sarcastic response that wanted to come out. "Yes, I do."

"Would you have done the surgery?" He asked.

Jordan looked at the girl, and picked up the charts to see what they said. "From what this says her condition was, yes. I would have amputated her arm." She checked Sam's stats again, making sure everything was still working as it should. "And Dr. Callahan is the best one to do it."

Later that week…

Sam pulled through the surgery and everything was healing as it was expected to. When the little girl had woken up three days after arriving to the hospital, she had asked for the doctor who took her. Despite TC having been temporarily suspended for his actions, he was called in to see her. When TC had walked in, the girl had grabbed his hand and thanked him, over and over, in tears for saving her. TC had stayed with her for a bit, and she had asked him about the other girls, and when he told her most hadn't made it and told her who had, she had asked him other things. She wanted to know stories, about 'all the amazing things doctors do'. So for a few hours, he stayed and told her about some of the things he's seen and done, being sure to keep them light.

Much to Julian's relief, when the little girl was finally discharged, he received a letter from the parents, who apologized for their earlier reactions and said they were thankful for how things turned out. There would be no lawsuit for this. TC's suspension was lifted the next day, and returned to work that night.

From then on, Julian watched TC a little closer, seeing TC's actions not just as a reckless Army Ranger medic, but as a man who graduated top of his class of John Hopkins, who joined the Army Rangers, who worked hard and efficient under fire and extreme pressure. He no longer saw TC as a liability, but as an irreplaceable ER doctor.


	5. Thankful

**Nancymer372- I don't plan on writing something where the baby lives(there's so much drama I can play with there, lol), but I do plan on something similar. I just don't like rewriting episodes, lol.**

It was one of the very rare days when Jordan and TC both had off on the same night. They had work the night before, and the training the military medics in the morning, and then a 'welcome home/discharge' party for one of TC's friends in the afternoon. Jordan had gone with, spending some time with the women she had first meant when TC had been deployed. Her and Annie used to meet with these women, and it had gotten them all through some of the harder parts of being married or dating a military man. There were some new women now, so young looking. And they all watched as the men played a game of backyard football. Seeing TC smiling, an honest, true smile, was one the best things Jordan had seen in a long time. She watched as he collided with someone else had been reaching for the ball, and they fell in a pile in a puddle of mud, laughing. There was one man there, discharged last year, who had no legs. He sat on the sidelines, cheering the others on. And one of the wives who hadn't come to the party had gotten the letter yesterday that her husband, whom she had married a year ago, had been killed in action.

And now, they were curled up in their bed. TC was fast asleep, snoring quietly. His face was relaxed in a way that was a rare for him since he had gone to war. He was fast asleep, one arm draped over her. When they had left the party, they had peaceful dinner of some homemade chicken alfredo, cake for dessert, and a little bit of romantic pleasures. Jordan looked over at TC, the peace on his face that only comes when he's sleeping. His hair fell over his eyes, his mouth open just a little bit, soft, quiet snores coming from him. He hadn't always snored. It wasn't until he had come back from the first tour that he had started. And it wasn't very often that he slept soundly either. He was a restless sleeper, always tossing and turning while sleeping and waking up at the slightest noise or disturbance. Usually the only times he slept soundly was if he was heavily medicated or if she was laying with him.

Laying with him she couldn't help but think about the woman who's husband had just been killed a year ago. She was so, incredibly thankful that TC had survived and come home. Even with all the things he did since being discharged, running head-first into danger to save other people, he had always come back. He still had all his limbs and all his senses. He was still there, even if there were little differences. There weren't words to explain how much it meant to her that he was still around. That despite everything, all they had been through, he still came back to her. He was never mad at her for long, and she loved him for it. She loved that no matter, he still came home.

He muttered something, curling in a little tighter, and she gently reached out to rub his arm. Carefully, to make sure it wouldn't feel like someone grabbing him. She had made the mistake once, of wrapping her hand around his arm while he was sleeping, and he come awake so fast and so violently, they both went to work the next night with bumps on their heads. Now, she was careful to make sure every movement she made was a gentle one, slow and nurturing. What was annoying about it was that he had almost gotten over the jumpiness, before he had decided to go back to Syria with Syd. In all honesty, Jordan was still a little mad about that, but not at TC. She was mad at herself, at Drew, Topher, Annie, and even Scot. All of them had played a role in his leaving. Her breaking up with him right after the miscarriage, Drew yelling at TC (which, honestly, was justified, but still), Annie for being who she was and dating Scott, and Topher for telling Syd that he was okay to go. TC thrived in chaos, yes, but Jordan could still remember the news report that she heard when the camp was bombed.

" _A refugee camp on the edge of Syria was bombed yesterday, and no survivors were found. We're told there were two American doctors in the camp, though there are no signs of them now. It is unknown if they were killed in the attack."_

She had been working that night, and had been about to go see a patient when the report had reached her ears, and she had seen the pictures of Syd and TC on the screen. There hadn't been any words to describe the pain she had felt, and her knees had given out right there. Kenny had caught her before she had hit the ground and held her, and said to her over and over, " _They didn't say he was killed. You know him, Jordan, he's still out there. He's going to come back to you. He'll come home, he'll walk through those doors on his own two feet."_

Over and over, he had repeated it. He would come home. He was okay, he would come home. And then a few weeks later, another news report.

" _The two American doctors from the Syrian Refugee camp that was bombed a few weeks ago had been found, alive. While we do not have the whole story, we are told that both are being treated for minor injuries and heat exhaustion, but are otherwise unharmed."_

Shortly after, she had gotten a letter from TC, saying that he was safe and staying in Syria for a while longer, working with the White Helmets. He had mentioned nothing of the bombing, and the next time she had spoken to him had been to tell him Topher had died, and that had not been the time to bring up the refugee camp. And no time had come up for it after that either. TC barely spoke about the trip, only really mentioning briefly how he met Amira and where the gun-shot scar on his shoulder came from. Jordan couldn't bring herself to ask for the rest of the story, because she was simply too glad that he was home. And when he had stepped out of that van after she had thought he left again, the relief that washed over her was almost enough to knock her down.

She realized now, after so many years, that TC would never just lay low and be quiet. He was always going to run headfirst into danger, whether that danger be war, burning buildings or vehicles, or air vents with serial killers. The important thing was always that he came home, to her, every time. No matter what, he always came back to her, always came home. And she accepted it now, that there was no other way they were meant to be. They were meant to be together, through thick and thin, sickness and health, until death do them part.


End file.
